This Isn't My Main Blog Is It?

No it can't be!? this is my all around board, you say? Ok I'll trust you

[soupapology]

My OTP washing machine or whatever haha

It took SO long to finish this! Enjoy my brain rot once more

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He’s so busted up ❤️‍🩹

[soupapology]

Waterboy, Herman, my Beloved ✨

Plus some more doodles&lineart

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So I haven’t actually posted on tumblr in ACTUAL YEARS but this game has me in a chokehold and I need to share the insane doodles and drawings I’ve been making!!

Enjoy a shirtless Robert, I got so into drawing him

I liked the grey more, but here’s the lineart and some color:

[hop-a-lot]

How would you like your tea P1+2.0

"Keep your Robert warm" compilation! Not all of the crew but I might do the rest of them in next possible batch. Close-ups under the cut!

[soupapology]

Bro…

[doodlemancy]

hello fellow artists. google has fallen. pinterest/duckduckgo AI filters don't work. do not despair; here is a list i made of places to find reference images without having to sift through piles of worthless garbage. (for future editing convenience i am just linking my blog post on dreamwidth.)

✨ good places to find art reference that are not full of AI trash 🌈

[hop-a-lot]

Idea of Robert wearing prosthetic limb

[toktopus-art]

season 2 but eddie's there?

another redraw of old art! when I first posted this, @mojowitchcraft wrote an amazing fic based on it. you should go read it!! Hazy Shade on ao3.

[selineabanto]

steddie sketch dump 2

part 1 here

[selineabanto]

vintage magazines 🔥

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

Steve can’t really blame Robin for forgetting her trumpet: they’ve been chatting the whole ride to school like normal, and Spring Break is fast approaching, excitement in the air—so infectious that Steve feels it too, like he’s still at school, like Robin’s anticipation is partly his own.

They barely stop talking for long enough to draw breath; it’s a surprise to them both when Hawkins High comes into view, and Robin has to take her seatbelt off in a hurry, climbing out and rushing through, “So yeah, I’ll keep you updated and—yeah, yeah, my work stuff’s in my bag, okay, see you later, loveyoubye!”

Steve realises the trumpet is still in the backseat as he’s pulling out of the parking lot. He stops, honks his horn, but it’s too late: Robin must’ve already gone inside. Several students look over at the noise, but no-one Steve really knows; Claudia is dropping Dustin off today, but he can’t see any trace of him, otherwise he would’ve…

He does another quick scan—spots one familiar face at the last second.

Yeah, he thinks, you’ll do.

He twists in his seat to pick up the trumpet case and opens the passenger door.

“Hey, Munson!” Eddie’s a couple feet away; it seems like he’s kicked the habit of hardly ever showing up to homeroom. He just looks at Steve, like he’s faintly baffled, so Steve feels the need to tack on, “It’s Steve. Steve Harrington?”

That does the trick: Eddie shakes his head as if Steve’s just said something completely pointless.

“Yeah, no shit.” He heads over to Steve’s car and cocks his head at the case. “Are you trying to uh, trade? I’m cash only, Harrington.”

“Ha ha,” Steve says flatly. “No, it’s—you know Robin, right? She’s in your year.” At Eddie’s blank look, he adds, “Robin Buckley,” trying not to sound judgemental. It’s just now that he knows her, he can’t imagine how it’s possible for anyone to not know her. It’s Robin.

Eddie glances at the case again; the penny must drop, because he says, “Oh. Yeah, duh, she’s the one in band? Fluent in, like, everything?”

Steve smiles. “That’s her.” He hands the case over. “Thanks, man, she’s gonna freak when she realises she doesn’t have it. They’re practicing for the game, so—”

“Swiftest of deliveries, got it,” Eddie says, and he actually manages a little salute while holding the trumpet case.

Steve almost laughs.

He doesn’t think any more on the exchange until he’s picking Robin up again. He’s temporarily locked Family Video—what Keith doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Thank God he’s out of town for Spring Break; Steve’s counting down the days. A whole week of just him and Robin, and whatever movies they want to throw on and enthuse about. He’s already picked out his choices, though he still needs to check if the store has them or if he should go through the tapes he’s got at home.

He brings out a notepad from the glovebox and scrawls a reminder to do just that before he sees Robin walking out of school, trumpet case swinging by her side.

She spots his car without him needing to use the horn—claps her free hand to her forehead, and he shakes his head, smiling. It’s a gesture they keep doing at each other, especially when making mistakes at work, getting more and more stupidly exaggerated each time. Then she switches to a thumbs up which Steve returns enthusiastically with both hands, as she opens the door to the backseat and puts the case back inside the car.

“Glad the delivery was successful,” he says, craning his neck to try and meet her eye.

“Yeah, it—” The clunk of the door being shut, soon followed by Robin opening the passenger door and sliding in, still talking, “—was all good, I just, um—ooh, you have gum in here! Great, thanks—what was I—? Oh yeah, I think I confused him?”

“You confused him?” Steve echoes with amusement: an incontrovertible fact of Hawkins High is Eddie Munson’s talent for confusing other people.

“I didn’t mean to! It’s just—okay so, he showed up, like, ten minutes into first period, but you know how Taylor’s stressing about the pronunciation of—basically Rebecca said fam-eel instead of fam-ee—”

“Quelle horreur,” Steve interjects wryly.

Robin snorts, then nods in approval. “Très bien, see, you sound great! But, like, poor Rebecca, she lost her shit—Miss Taylor, I mean, though Rebecca was—anyway, the point is Taylor’s so incredibly strict about talking in French the whole time. I mean, the whole time.”

“The whole time, got it,” Steve says as he reverses out the parking lot. “Wait, the whole time? What if—”

“Whatever you’re about to say, I guarantee you Taylor doesn’t care. Unless someone’s actually dying, and even then—”

“Okay, but what if there’s—like, what if someone’s gotta get pulled out of class—”

“No-one interrupts Miss Taylor,” Robin says gravely. “No-one has dared try.”

Steve starts to grin. “I see where this is—”

“So, Eddie Munson—Taylor always shuts the door but I see him coming, and he’s, like, looking through the window, and I’m trying to wave without being obvious about it so Taylor doesn’t murder me, and I guess I don’t do it great ‘cause he’s looking at me like…”

There’s a pause. Steve huffs a laugh, knowing that Robin’s probably doing a not all that faithful interpretation of what Eddie looked like.

“Rob,” Steve says patiently, managing a brief side glance, “I’m driving.”

“Right, okay, basically he looked like he thought I needed medical attention. And then he’s lifting up my trumpet case, and I’m trying to, like, signal with my eyes like, yay, great! Please just leave it outside the door if you wanna get out alive, but he doesn’t get it, so he knocks and Taylor. Just. Goes. Silent.”

“Ouch,” Steve says. He knows that type of silence well—thinks namely of Mr Mundy’s ire whenever he showed up late to math.

“And Eddie opens the door, and Taylor just speaks the most rapid French at him, and he basically does the world’s most startled mime act, like, pointing at the case then at me, and he’s got these eyes, Steve—”

“Woah, he has eyes? Hadn’t noticed.”

“—that are just begging you for help. And I’m trying to talk for him, in French, obviously, but I’m trying to widen my eyes like, dude, leave, but he just looks even more confused, but then it must click ‘cause he stammers out Bonjour, and Taylor’s staring him down, it’s so—”

“Sounds painful.”

“I mean, it was kinda worth it in the end.”

Steve chuckles. “Really? How?”

“A: I got my trumpet. And B…” There’s a giggle rising in Robin’s voice as she says, “Eddie Munson might not know much French, but he does know how to say Monsieur Harrington.”

“Bullshit, he didn’t say that.”

Silence, quickly broken by Robin’s hiccuping laughter—which, of course, means Steve starts laughing, too. Much later, he’ll recall just how much he smiled; how he told himself he didn’t quite know why.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes!” Robin says. It’s more of a squeak. “He even tried to make your name sound French, oh my God, I can’t breathe—”

“I mean, doesn’t it sound pretty French already?” Steve says, already planning how he can keep this going; maybe he’ll steal Robin’s beret when she isn’t looking. “Don’t I have that je ne sais quoi?”

“Oh, you are so corny, it’s unb—and don’t act like you don’t know it’s all anyone would talk about after, the whispers.” Robin’s voice rises comically. “Did he say Harrington? As in Steve, Steve Harrington?  Oh, my cousin was in his year, he’s so—”

“Shut up,” Steve says fondly. Then, faux smug, “Told you I’m still cool.”

They’re stuck behind a little build up of traffic, just before the turn off to Family Video—and just as Robin starts to reply, she cuts herself off.

Steve gives her another sidelong glance. She’s trying to slide down in her seat.

“… What are you doing?”

“Shh, Steve, he’s right there!”

“Who’s right—oh.”

Eddie Munson must be walking home today, because there he is on the sidewalk. He’s not noticed them, he’s just readjusting the strap of his bag across his shoulder.

Robin keeps wriggling.

Steve snorts. “Jeez, what’re you so scared of? He’s not gonna turn you to stone.” He thinks about it. “Well, actually, there was that one time where—but that’s just ‘cause one of the Murphy twins freaked at—”

“I’m not scared, I’m just mortified, Steve! I’ve basically ruined his life.”

“Uh-huh, totally. Look at him over there, that’s a broken man, all right.”

The traffic starts to move.

“Oh no,” Robin says. “Oh no, no, no.”

Steve grins mischievously. “I’m gonna say hi.”

Robin sounds like he’s just suggested they go rob a bank. “Steve, don’t you dare—”

“What? I like honking the horn, sue me!”

Which is true: whenever he stumbles upon one of the kids—when he’s not actually giving them rides—he loves seeing their reactions when they spot his car. He’s still got a warm glow from passing by Dustin and his mom on his way to work at the weekend, their enthusiastic waves.

They catch up to Eddie, and Steve sounds the horn in a short rhythmic group of three, like a little song.

He glances over in time to see Eddie’s eyes widen in recognition, a red flush creep up his neck. His hand lifts and hovers in the air like he doesn’t know whether to commit to a full wave or not.

Robin, evidently still panicking, winds down the window. She shouts wildly into the wind, “Merci!”

Steve makes it to the parking lot before he loses it.

“Merci?” he wheezes with laughter, as Robin frantically slaps him in the chest. “Merci?”

“I panicked!”

“Oh my God, really? No-one would know.”

“He’s gonna think I’m a total—”

“Freak?” Steve cackles. Robin socks him in the arm. “Ow!”

“That did not hurt. Ugh, maybe—maybe he didn’t know it was me?” A beat. “Steve.”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t realise you wanted me to lie to you.”

This time Steve avoids the punch, gets out the car and retrieves Robin’s work vest from the back. He tosses it to her over the roof of the car, shakes his head with exasperated affection.

“Rob, seriously, relax. Eddie Munson’s probably just praying he never sees us again.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Oh, well, in that case.”

But she does relax as she puts on her vest; she’s already enthusing about the movies they’ll watch over Spring Break by the time Steve unlocks the front door.

“You need to pick some, too, Steve.”

“Dude, I have a whole list, it’s in the car.”

“Très bien, Monsieur Harrington.”

“Jesus.” Steve scoffs. “Was that supposed to be an impression?”

“No! Eddie was more like…” Robin does an incredibly odd movement with her jaw, as if preparing herself.

Steve flinches back in mock horror. “Oh my God! Never mind.”

“Now, Monsieur Harrington—”

“Uh, no. That is not becoming a nickname.”

“Pass me those tapes, please.”

“No.”

“Whatever you say… Monsieur Harrington.”

“Robin,” Steve says, breaking again into laughter—and the sight of Eddie Munson so obviously blushing gently drifts to the back of his mind. “Ta gueule!”

[puncertainty]

finally finished this :3

[bubbagumps]

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

A Code Red Situation

Prompt #18 - Get Out | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Mention of Drug Dealer Eddie, Mention of Poor Mews | POV: Gareth | Relationship(s): Gareth & Corroded Coffin, Dustin & Steve | Tags: Set in S2, Very Slight Canon Divergence, Dart Has Siblings, And They Had To End Up Somewhere

"What is it?" Jeff asks, peering into the cardboard box. 

Gareth isn't sure. It was in his trash can, banging around making a racket when he got home from the Halloween party he definitely wasn't invited to. Worth sneaking in, though. Hagan and Hargrove were being assholes, sure, but Steve Harrington left crying while Eddie sold every last ounce of the weed he had. 

It'd been an entertaining night, even before he found this little fella. 

"It's a pollywog," Eddie says. "Right?"

"Awfully big," Goodie answers. "Maybe for a bullfrog?"

"I don't know, it looks weird," Jeff says. "Invasive species, maybe? It makes me feel uneasy."

Gareth looks at the little blob of a thing. Uneasy? It's just a growing tadpole. It has little legs now.

"Do you think it needs water?" Gareth asks.

"Well, it's not dead yet," Goodie says, stating the obvious. "Maybe you should take it to Mr. Clarke."

"From middle school?" He has no interest in going back to middle school, thanks. He's a high schooler now.

"Mr. Dudley definitely isn't taking time to look at your pollywog," Goodie argues, and he's not wrong. The high school biology teacher is dry as dust.

Gareth only brought it to school to show his friends, he hadn't really considered taking it to a teacher. But if it's some sort of new discovery, Mr. Clarke would be a good bet on him getting it into the right hands.

He'll think about it.

It's growing fast. Really fast. It's only been three days, and the thing has gone through a major metamorphosis. It feels too fast to be normal, and now Gareth's a little afraid of it. He finds a more secure cage, because if this thing escapes, he'll totally be fucked. 

He doesn't even know what it is.

Maybe now's the time to take it Mr. Clarke.

Gareth carries it across the school parking lot, running straight into Steve Harrington. Knocking the cage out of his grasp, sending it clattering to the gravel. 

The pollywog screeches, and makes an almost mechanical clicking noise, rattling the cage, beating against the sides violently at being so rudely jostled. 

Then, its face unfurls. Holy fucking shit…did that? That didn't. No goddamn way.

But Harrington visibly recoils in a way that tells Gareth it absolutely did. What a bizarre way to transform. Like it's trying to turn itself inside out from the top down. Fascinating.

Gareth reaches for the cage, but Harrington's faster, snatching it first.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" Harrington demands, yanking the cage from his grasp, despite all Gareth's protests.

"Hey! That's mine!" Gareth argues, but Harrington's just shaking his head.

"No, no, no. Absolutely not," he says, waving his arms around, shaking the poor thing in its cage, pissing it off further.

"Stop, you're scaring it."

"That's the least of my concerns, kid. Trust me. This isn't good. It's not good at all."

Gareth doesn't care. He's not giving him a choice. He found the thing. It's his. Harrington isn't taking it. If he does, Gareth will tell everyone he saw him crying like a little baby on Halloween.

Steve's mumbling under his breath, "I was gonna bring flowers, but I suppose this could break the ice. Goddammit."

Gareth just stares at him. He's so weird. People think Eddie's weird. But he doesn't hold a candle to this.

Steve starts walking towards his car.

"No way, you're not just taking it, I'm coming with you," Gareth demands, following Steve Harrington out towards his car.

Harrington doesn't seem to care one way or another, and Gareth climbs into his BMW.

At Nancy Wheeler's house, Gareth sits there awkwardly as Dustin Henderson intercepts Steve on the way to the door. Gareth remembers him from middle school. He's a couple years younger, but with that big mouth, he's hard to miss.

He just watches them go back and forth until Dustin Henderson grabs the cage from Steve's hand.

What the fuck? Why is everybody so determined to steal this thing? Gareth gets out, ready to defend what's his. 

"Where'd you find Dart?" Henderson asks, sounding indigent.

"Who?" Steve asks.

"Dart," Dustin says again, peering closely into the cage, "Shit. This isn't Dart. There's more than one? Son of a bitch. This is definitely a code red situation."

Gareth looks between them. 

"Henderson, what are you talking about?" Harrington asks.

"We need to kill it," Dustin says. 

"Hey, no!" Gareth yells, charging forward.

"It'll eat your cat. If you let it keep growing it'll eat you, too," Dustin says, then looks up at Steve, cutting a glance at Gareth, lowering his voice, "This is a baby…you know what."

Steve Harrington, "Uh, yeah. I figured that out all by myself, Henderson."

Gareth's getting mad. They're saying things without actually saying anything at all. He wants a straight answer, "What is this thing?"

"You don't want to know," Dustin says, "Go home, Gareth. Get out of here. Pretend you never saw it."

Yeah, right. That's not happening.

Steve Harrington takes the cage from Henderson's hands, "How are we going to dispose of it?" 

Henderson shrugs, "Don't know yet. But we need to. Fast. Then we need to find Dart."

"Dart?" Harrington asks.

"The one that I found. Keep up. I wonder how many more there are roaming around town? This isn't good at all," Dustin says. 

"This one's mine," Gareth says.

Dustin wheels on him, "Mine ate my cat. You don't want it. Trust me."

Yeah, Gareth heard him right the first time, he guesses.

Harrington walks the cage to the trunk of his car, and puts it in. Slamming the lid. The pollywog screams.

"Get in, Henderson."

Gareth takes a step towards the car, but hears the cage violently rattling around in the trunk of the BMW, banging and shrieking.

It stops him in his tracks, "You know, maybe I'll just walk home."

"Good plan," Harrington says, and they pull away from the curb, leaving Gareth standing on the Wheeler's front lawn. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: And then Dustin and Steve proceed on their bonding adventure.

Corroded Coffin is just an older version of The Party. Them getting into the same situation at the same time just seemed funny to me. But they didn't lose theirs. With age, comes better containment skills, I guess. You must learn that in high school, lol.

[ltorekdraws]

i firmly believe that bratworth is still able to make that sickengly stupid lovestruck face which drives everyone else mad

ohhh the urge to look like a shoujou prince for you

[gryphll]

Greetings throughout the years ❤️💙

my spread for @nrmtzine!! Leftover sales are available neow!

[sushiisiu]

getting numbers at the club